Don't Judge Them Too Harshly
by AliceSarina
Summary: Post-S3 finale fic. Split-introspective. M and M are grappling with the dynamics of their relationship. It is not a "finale-fix" so to speak, but more of an explanation of what the were thinking. Rated K to be safe.


**Disclaimer: If they belonged to me, the finale would have been blissfully different. ^_^**

**A/N: There is something about the ocean that makes you feel so small, and introspective. At least for me that is true.**

**Description: Post-S3 finale fic. Split-introspective. M and M are grappling with the dynamics of their relationship. It is not a "finale-fix" so to speak, but more of an explanation. **

**Mary's POV**

Mary threw back the covers off the hotel bed. The heat was absolutely oppressive. She turned and stared at Faber, who was snoring contentedly. "At least one of us was satisfied," she thought to herself, grumpily.

She sat up and swung her legs onto the side of the bed. Her skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat. She ran her hand across her forehead, but the air was thick with humidity, and she found no relief.

Emotion gnawed at her stomach. The alcohol in her system had been metabolized, making all the bad feelings much more difficult to repress. She got up and walked out onto the patio. The night sky was beautiful, and she could see even more stars than in Albuquerque, if that were possible.

She stepped down onto the deserted beach, the smell of fish and fried corn thick in the air. She loved the feel of the sand between her toes. It reminded her of the turtle sandbox Jinx brought home one year, when she was 7. She and Brandi played in it every day, till it got infested with ants.

A gust of wind wrapped around her, and the relief was immediate. She looked for a bit of sand that wasn't littered with cigarette butts and broken glass, and sat down. She wrapped her arms around her legs and just stared at the horizon. She couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the sky that stretched on forever, and the ocean's unfathomable depths. The roar of the waves seemed so much louder at night, it almost drowned out the salsa music that was playing in the distance.

She was tempted to find the nearest open liquor store (maybe the resort bar was still open) so that she could drink this feeling away. Strange, she invited Faber on vacation so she wouldn't have to think, so she wouldn't have to deal with something messy, and yet she couldn't shake this wretched feeling.

Marshall had, Marshall had, well she couldn't really define it. There was a part of her that knew how good it would be with him. If he wanted something more, which maybe he did. When he had looked at her, given her that "no more cowboys speech," she had felt something, a spark.

In her mind, in that instant, she saw herself and him, holding hands, and making pancakes on Sundays, and even growing old together. She knew in that moment that she could fall in love with her partner. But not for one second, not even one small second, did she allow herself to believe that would ever be a possibility. It was, as he said, too messy.

And if she were a better woman she would tell him that she is just too damaged. Maybe she would even officially request to switch partners, so that they wouldn't have to deal with what was between them. She certainly wasn't strong enough for that. There was far too much pain in her life, searing just beneath the surface of her skin, for her to even imagine dealing with more.

"I need him," she thought resolvedly. "Just not in the way that maybe he needs me," the thought finished itself, unbidden. She pushed the notion away. She was just not strong enough to consider the ramifications of this line of thinking.

The ocean had lulled her into a calm state, bringing bitter thoughts to the surface.

She didn't know how to define what had happened right before she left. She would try not to tell him that she went with Faber, but he'd know. He probably already knew. And she'd have to endure the look of agony on his face, the first time she walks back into the office. But then she'd make a joke, and he'd laugh. And then they'd be partners again. And they would protect witnesses, and shoot bad guys, and drink coffee, and it would be exactly they way it was supposed to be. Sort of.

The tips of her toes were beginning to feel numb. She stood up and brushed the sand off her legs. "Back to Faber," she thought. A man who would never give her unsolicited advice, unless it was, "we should have sex." A man who only cared about the superficial aspects of her life. A man who allowed her to brush off every serious conversation with a sarcastic remark. A man so consumed with his own emotional knots, that he would never really see her own.

She would usually describe him as her dream man, but for a moment, as she stared into what seems like infinity, she wasn't sure about anything.

She walked back into her room, and crawled into bed with the snoring lump. When she was younger she spent so much energy reaching from the chaos that engulfed her, seeking a rock, a mountain, something stable that she could cling to. But now she'd just embraced the chaos, thrown herself into the whirling vortex. She isn't happy, but at least she knows the territory.

**Marshall's POV**

The first night Mary was gone, Marshall did the same thing he did most work nights. He stayed late at the office. He came home, poured himself three fingers of whiskey, neat. He watched the 11 o'clock news. Then he curled up in his bed and read (tonight: The Art of War). The difference was that he read till the words blurred together, and he all but passed out from exhaustion, still in his dress pants and button-down shirt.

It was only a few hours later when his clock turned from 5:59 to 6:00am, and music began to fill his room.

Another day of work. He didn't turn off the radio like he usually did, but blasted the jazz station as he got ready. He called his mother, instead of Mary, as he drove to work. He tried his hardest to cover both his and Mary's workload, not even taking a break for lunch or dinner.

He attended more art shows, book signings, and classical concerts in those few weeks, than he had in the past year. He even met a blonde girl named Abigail at a wine tasting. They went back to her place. He called her the next day, but she never called back. He really didn't mind.

He watched every episode of the original Star Trek series. He re-read every work by Jonathan Swift. He even tried his hand at carpentry.

Mary had gone on vacation with another man. And now it was his turn not to think.


End file.
